


Rozzers Rosso

by twotenths



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Police, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:31:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twotenths/pseuds/twotenths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rob finally gets his long awaited promotion to active duty with the FIA: Scuderia division and finds himself partnered with Felipe Massa, newly graduated from the academy. Mild chaos ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Multi chapter series based on the development of Rob and Felipe's relationship in the FIA, a worldwide police task force. Written for the f1slash Summer Slash '13 writing challenge, based on the poem He Stepped Inside My Door by Eeva Kilpi.
> 
> Tell me immediately if I'm disturbing you,  
> He said, coming in the door,  
> And I will leave right away.
> 
> You not only disturb,  
> I answered,  
> You shake my whole being.  
> Welcome.

Holding his breath a little, he opened the door and walked into his new office, the door quietly swinging shut behind him. Small but elegant; a simple desk in the corner, a few chairs by the opposite wall, presumably for non-formal interviews, and a potted fern by the door. Plenty of room for all of his stuff. Shifting the weight of the cardboard box slightly, Rob walked over to the desk and put it down, settling down into his burgundy leather office chair and surveyed the room.

“I’ve finally done it,” he smiled to himself. The promotion to active duty had been a long time coming, but when the nod from the prestigious Italian based branch of the Fédération Internationale d’Autorité (or the “Worldwide Coppers” as Rob’s mates liked to joke), he had leapt at the chance to put his largely office based job within the organisation behind him and get out on the street, on the front line. Sighing contentedly, he rummaged around in his box, pulling out the promotion gift from his mother; a brown leather clipboard. His fingers traced the outline of a prancing horse embossed on the cover. When the FIA Italian branch was formed, it based itself in a converted horse stable, earning them the nickname of The Scuderia and its members The Tifosi. Though historians were less sure how that came about. But the nickname stuck, and the Tifosi had since been distinguished from other members of the FIA with flashes of red on their uniforms and the prancing horse embossed on their chests.

Rob was rudely interrupted from his reverential musings by a small hurricane bursting through the door, sending his potted fern flying, ingraining soil in the cream carpet that would never quite fade, despite being thoroughly scrubbed. He jumped out of his chair, clipboard flying out of his hand and landing somewhere in the not-so-far corner of the room.

“Oops,” said the small hurricane, “Did I disturb you?”

Slumping back in his chair and clutching his chest, he stared, eyes wide. “Just a little,” he replied, voice half an octave higher than normal.

“Sorry.” The small hurricane righted the plant, neglecting to scoop up the soil spread across the floor, and draped himself over the chairs. Rob continued to stare, eyebrows knitting as if hoping to non-verbally communicate, Who the hell are you? and What are you doing in my bloody office? “Are you sure you’re cut out to be a Tifosi?”

Rob snorted derisively, absently noting the accent. Spanish? “What makes you say that?”

“You yelped like a little dog when I came in the room!” he grinned. “You shouldn’t be that scared, no?”

Rob’s retort was cut short by the arrival of Inspector Domenicali. “At ease, gentlemen,” he said, motioning for them both to sit back down. “Officer Smedley, I see you’ve met your new partner, this is Officer Massa. He’s one of FIA’s top graduates, just finished his internship in the Swiss programme.”

The former small hurricane grinned, waggling his fingers in a distinctly non-professional manner. Rob frowned. “He is one of FIA’s top graduates?”

“Yes,” Inspector Domincali replied proudly, missing the tone of the statement. “Since you two have already met, I see there’s no need for me to facilitate introductions. Take the rest of the day to do what you need, your first shift starts tomorrow at 0800.”

He turned to leave, pausing in the doorway. He stooped down, scooping up something from behind the small recycling unit in the corner of the room. “Is this yours Officer Smedley?” he asked, holding up the clipboard. Rob felt his face flush as he nodded his assent, stepping around the desk to retrieve it, shooting a sideways glare at his new partner who was chuckling quietly. “Good luck Officers, I’m sure you’ll be an asset to the force.”

Rob frowned as he examined his clipboard; dented and a little bit scratched. Presumably from where it had hit the shelf before landing behind the recycling unit, one of the few sharp corners in his office. He assumed the interior was designed to prevent suspects from trying to hurt themselves whilst in custody and attempting to escape in hospital. Either that or work stressed officers who, after a long day, wanted nothing more than to bash their head against something hard rather than face another shift. Rob only assumed because he felt that exact urge creeping up on him every second his new partner was standing in there, watching him with great amusement.

“Can I help you?” Rob asked through gritted teeth.

“Nope,” he replied, grinning wider, “Just enjoying your face going red. You match the uniform.”

“Can you just go already?”

He laughed in reply. “I’ll see you tomorrow Officer Smedley. Don’t go throwing things yeah?”

Rob growled slightly under his breath as he left the room, closing the door with a wall shuddering crash, followed swiftly by an “Oh for fucks sake!” as he realised he’d just trod in the disaster zone left by his new partner and was working the dirt into the carpet. He squatted down, shovelling earth back into the pot, muttering curses under his breath and wondering what the hell had happened in the last five minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

He was late. Predictably. Rob drummed his fingers irritably on the roof of the car, glancing at his watch every half a minute or so. Their shift hadn’t even started and it was already going badly, if they didn’t leave soon they would miss their slot on the EXPRESSLINK from Monza to Bratislava where they were meant to be assisting with border control, and would be forced to bump a customer. The last thing Rob wanted to do was to piss off the general public but especially the EXPRESSLINK staff on his first day. That would definitely get back to FIA HQ.

Thump!

Rob jumped, inwardly berating himself as he did so, as there was only one person on the force who would think this was funny.

“You’re late,” he grumbled, turning to face his partner who had plonked a small box on the top of their car.

“You’re jumpy,” he replied, grinning. “I bought some doughnuts.”

Rob snorted. “Are you trying to be a walking stereotype?” he asked, climbing into the car. He looked up at Officer Massa who was standing by his door and looking bemused. “What?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to do my job, will you get in the car?” Rob replied in exasperation.

“But I drive.”

“Not when you’re ten minutes late you don’t.” He swiped the starter chip off the dashboard. “I’m the more senior officer, so I make the decisions and I have decided that I am driving. You had your chance to appeal the decision fifteen minutes ago when you were at the doughnut shop, now will you please get in?”

***

The drive to the EXPRESSLINK was spent mainly in sulky silence interjected with irate grumblings such as “Don’t put the doughnuts on the plasma screen,” “You should have gone that way,” and “Fortheloveofgodstopfiddlingwiththosebuttons.” Rob kept anxiously checking the clock, counting down the time until their pod left. They could still make it, just. The EXPRESSLINK was a network of underground tubes that fed into every major city in the world, enabling superfast transport of up to 400mph. Cars were transferred into pods with built in stabilisers to counteract the G forces, and transported on rails to the pre-programmed destination. As the rails were powered by the heat from the Earth’s core, the EXPRESSLINK was the fastest and most environmentally friendly transport on Earth (or in this case, underneath it). It wasn’t perfect, however, with comfort being sacrificed for speed, the pods were only as big as they needed to be. A private pod, although much more expensive, did mean that you didn’t have to be stuck in a cramped space with up to seven other vehicles and the strangers that occupied them. If you wanted comfort, travelling by plane was advisable, although they were a lot slower and the high carbon footprint meant they were heavily taxed. Of course, with pods zipping under the Earth at phenomenal speeds, a crash would be catastrophic; therefore, excursions had to be booked at least two months in advance to allow the engineers to programme the system, with passenger’s queuing days in advance to ensure they got on their pod. As the sign on each shuttle port said: Missed your pod? NOT MY PROBLEM.

Blunt, but to the point. Not good for FIA officers who were running late for their first shift; bumping a passenger who had been queuing for ten days would mean a lot of paperwork when they got back, not to mention a sanction from HQ, and undoubtedly an earful of abuse from said passenger. Rob accelerated, glancing nervously at the clock again: 0627. Three minutes to go. He pulled into the service vehicle lane, stopping next to pod loading manager.

“Name?” asked the manager, not looking up from his computer.

“Officer Smedley, SF07052006, 0630 to Bratislava.”

“Too late.”

Rob looked up at the clock, “It’s only 0628, we’ve still got two minutes!”

“And it takes at least three minutes to load the pods,” the manager replied, irritated. “Your pod has already gone past the loading zone, you should have got here earlier.”

Rob growled in frustration, “We would have been if it wasn’t for Officer Massa—“

The manager looked up sharply, interrupting Rob with a cry of, “Hey, Felipe!”

“Who?” Rob asked, puzzled.

“Hey, how’s it going,” his partner grinned, reaching across Rob to shake his hand.

“Not bad, not bad at all. Why aren’t you driving?”

Felipe gestured towards Rob. “He’s a senior or something.”

The manager laughed, poking Rob’s forehead. “Oh yeah, I can see the wrinkles.”

“And grey hair, look,” Felipe chuckled, tickling at his hairline. Rob scowled as the other two laughed at his expense.

“This is all very nice,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “But we have just missed our pod and I’m going to have to bump someone or be ridiculously late for our first shift.”

“No you won’t,” he said, tapping away at his computer. “When Felipe told me he was starting this week, I made sure to keep a slot open on the 0636.” He looked up and winked. “He did an internship with the Scuderia during his second year at the academy, I don’t think you were ever on time once, were you?”

Felipe shrugged, smiling. “Is my only fault.” Rob rolled his eyes.

“Done. Go ahead and get loaded on. You got chocolate sprinkles?”

“Huh?” said Rob, as Felipe leant across him once more, holding out the doughnut box. “Thanks Felipe,” he said, plucking out the last chocolate sprinkles doughnut.

Rob pulled into the loading lane, sticking on the limiter to ensure he didn’t speed.

“You didn’t know my name, did you?” Felipe asked, breaking the silence.

“You gave away the doughnut I was saving,” Rob huffed, avoiding the question.

“I thought eating doughnuts was stereotype, no? You didn’t want it.”

Rob rolled his eyes. “I did want it, I just wasn’t going to eat it whilst I was driving because I didn’t want sticky hands.”

“Just lick them clean,” Felipe scoffed, climbing out of their car as the pod closed around them, wandering off to chat with the pod’s other occupants. Rob sighed, settling back in his chair and disgruntledly plucked a glazed custard doughnut from the box. His intuition wasn’t often wrong and right now he had the feeling he was in for a difficult day. He just didn’t know how difficult.

***

“That one?”

“We’ve already done eight green ones today, pick a different colour.”

Rob and Felipe were leaning against the bonnet of their car, watching vehicles whizz past the Hungaro-Slovak border. As new officers, they had been assigned one of FIA’s dullest shifts: border control. Namely, to enforce traffic laws and to randomly check a minimum of ten cars each hour for the transport of illegal contraband. This was technically meant to be done by stopping every 20th or 25th car depending on traffic flow, but five hours into their shift and they had both given up any semblance of professionalism on that count and had taken turns choosing different methods of stopping cars.

“What colour now then?”

“Let’s do white, I think our numbers are a bit low.”

They were both glad of the chance to stop another car; the atmosphere between them had been a little tense since the EXPRESSLINK and stopping someone meant they had the chance to talk to another human for a couple of minutes, with a conversation besides which colour car they wanted to stop next. Felipe tapped into the computer, swearing quietly as he hit the wrong button and had to quickly rectify his mistake. He sent a message to the dashboard of the white car approaching, informing the driver he was required to stop the vehicle and Rob stepped out into the lane, directing it into the box. The driver of the car scrolled down his window, eyes darting between the two officers. He looked nervous.

“Mit akarsz?” he asked, blinking a lot. Rob put an earpiece in; a very clever device. It detected the language being spoken, translating the speech into the user’s required language and relaying it back to the officer with a delay of 0.1-0.5 seconds per word, depending on the speed of the original message and complexity of translation. It also came with a speaker, powered by the warmth of the user’s hand which translated the user’s speech for the other person. A vital tool for the FIA.

“Good afternoon sir, I am Officer Smedley of the FIA,” he paused to briefly flash his badge, trotting out the same tired speech he’d been spouting all day. “We’ve stopped you as part of our border control system to do a random search on your car. My partner and I will be scrutineering your car for any illegal contraband. Just a routine check.”

Felipe appeared next to Rob, handing him the sweeper. “Open your boot please,” he said, allowing the translator an extra second to process his heavily accented English.

“There’s no need,” the man said, laughing nervously, “I can tell you now I have nothing bad.”

Rob and Felipe looked at each other, suspicions growing by the second. “I’m afraid we want to confirm that for ourselves, sir,” Rob said, walking to the back of the car. “If you refuse to open the boot, I am permitted to open it by force.” He pulled out his Lockjacker, absently noting the two neon yellow stickers on the boot. At that moment, the man decided to cut his losses and bolt, nearly running over Felipe’s foot as he switched back into drive mode and screamed out of the scrutineering station.

The officers sprinted back to the car, swearing loudly. “No you don’t!” Rob shouted as Felipe made for the drivers door, “I’ve got the starter chip, I’m driving.”

Felipe begrudgingly climbed over to the passenger seat, a muttered “Caralho!” not going unnoticed. Rob jammed the starter chip in, punched the accelerator and ..

.. the engine spluttered to a halt.

“Did you just stall?” Felipe asked, incredulously.

“Shut up,” Rob hissed, cheeks flushing as he restarted the system.

“I don’t think anyone has stalled a car since the 2020’s,” Felipe said, still looking at Rob in disbelief. “I didn’t know it was still possible to stall ..”

“I said shut up!” Rob shouted tersely, accelerating out of the bay in pursuit of the suspect, flicking the lights on.  
The scenery sped past in a dizzying blur as Rob desperately floored the accelerator to catch up with the suspect, knuckles white on the wheel, two sets of eyes furiously scanning the road ahead of them. There was an air of nervousness in the car; they needed to radio in to let HQ know why they were currently breaking the speed limit but couldn’t contact them just to say they had lost the suspect and were frantically trying to find him. The pair nervously glanced at the comms console as though expecting it to bite them.

“There!” Felipe shouted, pointing at a white flash that had just darted up a slip road, heading towards central Budapest.

“Radio in,” Rob said, teeth gritted in concentration, as he peeled off the highway. “Request back up and prepare the SpyDAR.”

Felipe complied, relaying a series of codes whilst adjusting the sights on a handgun and loading the Spy Data Acquisition Robot; a roughly walnut sized device used primarily in high speed chases. The SpyDAR was fired at the suspect’s vehicle, attaching itself with eight legs (earning its name) with flanges that blew out on contact to anchor it to the surface of the vehicle. It then proceeded to cut through the bodywork and automatically made its way to the car’s electronics system, allowing remote access to the car’s controls, allowing the police to hack into and hijack the system, bringing the car to a safe and controlled stop.

“Can you get the shot?” Rob shouted over the rush of air as Felipe opened the sun roof, tightening the harness around him, and mounting the handgun in the dock on the roof for a steadier base.

“Yes, for sure,” he shouted back, “But closer, we’re not in range.”

Rob blindly fiddled around with some settings, diverting more power to the engine, away from non essential components, giving an extra burst to get them within 200 metres of the car.

“Take the shot!”

Felipe fired. Unfortunately, it was at the exact same moment as the extra power ran out, making the car jerk violently, sending Felipe’s shot both wide and short.

“You missed?” Rob asked incredulously as Felipe ducked back into the car.

“You drive with the wrong suspension settings, see?” Felipe angrily pointed at a dial on the dash, “How can I do a good shot when the car jumps?”

“It’s one of the first lessons in the academy!” Rob retorted, “Shooting on unstable ground!”

The pair of them seemed determined to argue about the finer points of driving and marksmanship until the suspect’s car took a sharp right, heading straight into the busy town centre.

“I need a field,” Rob said, begrudgingly dropping the argument. “Give me a six.”

When driving in high traffic areas, the FIA often deployed a revolving magnetic field around their cars, gently repelling other cars around them, enabling them to cut a path quickly through the traffic. A larger field meant a higher repelling property. The best drivers were the ones who only needed a minimal field to make their way through traffic, as larger fields had the tendency to repel cars into other ones, causing public damage and meaning more paperwork for the officers in question. Although a small field meant a high chance of car damage at speeds which would outweigh the magnetic field’s repellent strength, drivers using small fields overcame these risks with superior driving ability.

“A six?!”

“Yes!” Rob replied irately, “Give me a field now!”

They were now tearing down a busy street in hot pursuit, Rob using the lights as best he could to clear a path for himself, wincing as he heard a rear fender scrape down the side of a bus

“Hurry up!”

“Shut up!”

The suspect’s car was leaving a trail of devastation in its wake which was getting harder and harder to navigate through.

“The dial’s sticky, it won’t go!” Felipe said through gritted teeth, trying to find some purchase on the smooth surface.

“Didn’t I tell you about those fucking doughnuts?!”

As the car hit a particularly large piece of debris, the chocolate sprinkles jammed in the mechanism fell out. Unfortunately, with the sudden lack of resistance, the dial span quickly around to the highest setting. The field sent surrounding cars scattering across the street like pebbles, sliding into shop fronts and lamp posts, bouncing off their generated fields, until the road resembled a large game of marbles. The sudden power surge also played havoc with the inner workings of their own car.

“I can’t believe you stalled twice,” Felipe said quietly, as it sputtered to a halt once more, amidst the chaos.


	3. Chapter 3

The dressing down from Superintendent di Montezemolo was long, thorough, and very public. Both officers stood in sullen silence as the leader of the department laid into them, describing each of their faults during their disastrous first shift in great detail and great volume, turning steadily redder as his tirade went on. After nearly half an hour of shouting, di Montezemolo took a great shuddering breath and dismissed them both from his office in a low hiss. Their fellow officers hurried to look as though they hadn’t been listening intently to the rant, busying themselves in their cubicles with suspiciously loud and cheery chatter, and a seemingly unanimous urge to photocopy and shuffle pieces of paper. Felipe glowered wordlessly at Rob before setting off at a march towards Inspector Domenicali’s office. Rob followed in his wake, determined not to let his side of the story go unheard.

“I have nothing more to add,” Stefano said, not looking up as Felipe burst into his office, “I suggest you turn in your report and go home for the rest of the day.”

“Is not fair, was not my fault,” Felipe said mutinously, as Rob strode into the room.

“ Excuse me,” he replied angrily, “Don’t try and pin this all on me! You missed the shot!”

“Hang on,” Stefano interjected quickly, “What shot, the SpyDAR?” The two officers nodded. “Why was Officer Massa not driving?”

“Because _he,_ ” Felipe gritted out, jabbing his finger at Rob, “insisted that he should be the one to drive! And then he stalled _twice!”_

Stefano frowned, looking at the pair of them, “Stalled? I didn’t think it was still possible to stall cars.”

Rob gritted his teeth, glaring at Felipe. Stefano regarded the pair of them for a few moments before sighing softly.

“Felipe drives. Rob, you ride along. I want your reports on my desk tomorrow morning.”

Felipe flounced out of the office with a small glint of triumph in his eyes. Fists clenched, he approached the desk, steeling himself for the request he’d been mentally rehearsing since the car had juddered to a halt in central Budapest.

“Inspector? I’d like to request a partner transfer. Y’see, after today it’s apparent that me and him just aren’t going to get along, and I think it’d be better .. Sir?”

Stefano was regarding him with a mixture of sadness and disappointment that made Rob’s insides crawl unpleasantly.

“That is a shame,” he said quietly, “I partnered you up with Felipe because I thought you’d work really well together. Your strengths complemented each other and I thought your personalities would too. I guess I was wrong.” Rob’s stomach contracted uncomfortably again, but he remained silent. Eventually, Stefano spoke again, “It’s not as simple as you think. There are no new recruits due to come in, and Felipe would need to be partnered with another experienced officer. Your request has been acknowledged and I will look, but for the time being, you will have to continue to work with Felipe. If I find suitable candidates and you still feel this way, I will transfer you, okay?”

“Thank you, sir,” said Rob quietly, feeling very small. He turned to leave, but the Inspector beckoned him back.

“I meant what I said, Rob,” Stefano stated, quietly, “You have a steady hand, an analytical mind, and your calmness under pressure is the reason I recommended you to Luca. Play to those strengths, let Felipe play to his.”

Rob nodded and left the room, not entirely convinced.

***

For the second time in as many days, Rob found himself waiting impatiently by the car. After everything that happened yesterday, he _still_ couldn’t get into work on time .. Rob felt his temper rising, the anger bubbling under the surface.

“Rob?”

He span around to find his partner standing behind him, one hand fidgeting with the starter chip, the other clasping a steaming paper cup. “I, uh brought you tea. From England.” He held the cup out in front of him; a peace offering. Rob paused, mouth slightly agape from the accusation he had been ready to fling at him.

“My friend at the EXPRESSLINK,” Felipe offered in a way of explanation, “Is easy for him to get stuff, he calls and other workers put want he wants in the next pod going to him.”

Rob continued to stand and stare, somewhat taken aback by the 180 his partner was doing on him.

“I talk to Giuliano yesterday, about Budapest, and he say that was not all your fault, that I did some things not so good too. And he was right. And I’m sorry.”

Felipe continued to hold the cup out in front of him, arm beginning to ache. Rob took it from him, with a quiet “Thanks” and a small nod. Felipe grinned.

“Now get in the car, we are late!” he said, elbowing Rob aside to get at the drivers door. Rob snorted at the cheek and rolled his eyes a bit, but dutifully slid into the passenger seat as Felipe started the car.

“I’m sorry too,” he mumbled, barely audible over the growl of the engine.

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry,” he said a little louder, “I was going over my report last night and I realised that I made some mistakes too. And I’m sorry.”

He took Felipe’s smile and affectionate pat on the shoulder as an acceptance of his apology, and they settled into a much more comfortable silence than the day before.

***

For three days they had been stationed in Vatican City, unanimously agreed upon by the pair of them as “the most boring place on Earth”. Since Catholicism had been largely disbanded, there wasn’t even a Pope to guard any more, just small throngs of tourists to watch over, who did nothing more interesting than take pictures of the Sistine Chapel before wandering back into Rome. They knew why they were being stationed there; the fiasco in Budapest meant the Scuderia wanted to keep them close, partly to keep an eye on them, partly to prevent another embarrassing incident. With a population of less than a thousand people, and a dwindling tourist trade, Vatican City had become the place that most of the FIA sent their disgraced officers. Rob wryly wondered if this was the reason it had yet to be subsumed by Italy.

Their first day together was mostly spent in silence, both wary of talking about the previous day and disturbing their precarious truce, Rob unconsciously cradling his cup of tea long after it had been finished. By the second day, after having traipsed around the entire perimeter of the tiny country several times, they had resorted to safe topics of conversation, mostly slagging off the tourists and their ridiculous attire. Felipe had twisted Rob’s arm into playing a game with him on the third day, a competition to find the ugliest tourist and get a picture with them. There was much debate on the journey back to Maranello over who had won; Felipe had found the uglier tourist, but had been much less subtle than Rob (who had persuaded a fellow member of the FIA to take a picture as he pretended to walk past), and had been caught by the tourist in question as he had tried to get a selfie with him. The situation had only been defused when Rob intervened with a bald faced lie about trialling new face recognition technology, with Felipe chiming in to inform that he was assisting in the fight against crime. The tourist eventually left, looking mollified but confused, and Felipe had dissolved into giggles as soon as he was out of sight. Rob rolled his eyes but fought the urge to join in.  His partner was growing on him, but he still didn’t see the top-of-the-class graduate he’d been promised. Although, admittedly, Vatican City wasn’t much of a proving ground for showing your mettle as an officer.

Rob left Felipe to park the car, his last giggling fit bringing on a particularly persistent attack of hiccoughs, and went to his office, sitting back in his chair with a sigh. He tapped his V-Screen to wake it up, and began to fill in their report form. He had almost finished chronicling their uneventful day (he had thought it wise not to mention their little altercation with one particularly ugly member of the public), as Felipe burst through his door, upending his fern once again.

“Do you ever knock?” Rob asked, not looking up, “And pick that up, I still haven’t got the muck out of the carpet from last time.”

“Sorry.”

Rob hit send on the report and pulled out his clipboard to scribble down a few notes from the day. After a minute, he looked up to find Felipe watching him with interest.

“What?”

“That is pen and paper, no? Why not use a V-Board like everyone else?”

He shrugged, turning his attention back to the clipboard in his lap, “I dunno. I like using pen and paper.”

“But a V-Board does so many more things!” Felipe countered.

“Just because it does lots of things, it doesn’t always make it better,” he said, rolling the pen between his fingers, “Pens don’t glitch, paper doesn’t wipe itself clean if you forget to save it. Things don’t have to be flashy and grand to be exactly what you need. Sometimes the simple things are the best, like a piece of paper and a pen.”

 _And a cup of English tea,_ he thought.

Felipe nodded thoughtfully and Rob returned to his clipboard. After that mini speech, he wasn’t going to tell Felipe that all he’d been doing was doodling a picture of the ugly tourist they’d met earlier. He felt it would rather undermine the sentiment. His V-Screen briefly pulsed red, alerting him to the presence of new messages in his inbox.

“Excellent!” Rob exclaimed with a grin, as he read the first message, “No more Vatican City!”

Felipe beamed and jumped to his feet, scurrying around Rob’s desk, “ _Fantastico!_ No more ugly tourists! Where are we tomorrow?”

“San Marino. I guess they still don’t really trust us again, ‘cos it’s still close by, but it’s bigger, and stuff actually _happens_ there. Apparently we’re still just supplementary officers for the local force, but it looks like .. Felipe?” He looked up at his partner who had gone very quiet. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he replied in a small voice, shaking his head a little, as though he disagreed with what he just said. “I have to do some things before tomorrow. See you in the morning.”

As he left his office, Rob frowned at the message, wondering what it was about it that had prompted the sudden change in mood. In the short space of time he had known Felipe, he had experienced his happiness, smugness, a liberal amount of cheek, anger, and playfulness, but all of these parts of Felipe were expressed loudly, with flailing arms and sparkling eyes. Quiet and reserved Felipe was new. Despite the times where Rob would often shut his eyes for long periods in an attempt to block out the sometimes incessant jabbering, he wasn’t sure he liked seeing his partner so reticent. He glanced across his office, where the paper cup that Felipe had got him three days ago sat. He kept meaning to put it in the recycler but never seemed to get around to it, arms always full when he passed it, or else in much too much of a rush to take half a second to throw it away. _Sentimental bugger,_ he chastised himself, _Cluttering up my shelf._ _Best cup of tea I’ve had since I moved here, though._

Rob left his office, locked the door, and went home. He left the cup on the shelf.


	4. Chapter 4

Rob was surprised to find Felipe already in their car as he got into Maranello. He slid into the passenger seat with a mumbled “Alright?” to his partner, who only nodded and made a neutral noise before slotting in the starter chip and pulling away. It was unnerving—Rob was now well accustomed to Felipe’s near constant chatter, regardless of his mood. Even when he’d been reprimanded by Luca for a small spelling mistake on a report he’d handed in, he had been as talkative as the time he’d found his favourite song on a local radio station, though rather less cheerful and much more inclined to profanity. Rob had grinned into his cup of tea, occasionally nodding and saying things like “Yeah, what a dick” and “What does caralho mean?” before promising to look over his reports in future before he handed them in. Now though... Felipe had been remarkably withdrawn since they’d parted last night and it was bothering him.

“You’re very quiet today, what’s up?”

Felipe started slightly at the sudden break of silence. “Nothing,” he replied, attempting to stifle a yawn.

“Where did you rush off to yesterday?”

“Had something to do,” Felipe mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Late one was it?” Rob asked, watching his partner melt bonelessly into his seat with exhaustion.

“Late and early.”

“I take it you didn’t have your FIA recommended eight hours of sleep then?”

Felipe made a face that simultaneously said _What recommendation?_ and _Of course not_. Rob only rolled his eyes a little, which he felt was significant progress from where they had started.

“If you’re tired, I could drive to the EXPRESSLINK and you could have a kip in the passenger’s seat if you want?” he offered.

Felipe’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners and a small smile spread across his face, “I think is safer for me to drive half asleep than for you to drive at all!” he joked. “Remember Budapest?”

Rob huffed in mock outrage but they both chuckled darkly as they cast their thoughts back to their ignominious first outing.

“So is okay to laugh now then?”

Rob smiled at Felipe, who had seemed to perk up, just a little bit. “Well, better than crying isn’t it?”

Hey, the kid was alright.

***

40 minutes later Rob found himself regretting any charitable thoughts he’d had about his colleague as he stared into the open boot, scrubbing a hand over his face in despair, dimly aware of the sensor on his wrist informing him of his rising blood pressure.

“Officer Massa?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you come over here for a moment please?”

Felipe left the gaggle of tourists he’d been chatting animatedly with in their pod and joined Rob at the rear of the car.

“What,” Rob asked, gesturing at what looked like a small garden in the boot, “Is that?”

Felipe’s eyebrows knitted together as he looked at his colleague with concern. “Uhh they’re flowers Rob? They grow in gardens and you learn about them in pre-school...?”

Rob resisted the urge to throttle his partner—just a little bit.

“I know that, why are they in our car? Where did you get them from?”

“Had them sent over from Brazil last night.”

Rob felt he already knew the answer, but felt compelled to ask anyway; “With a permit?”

“No.”

“So you’re not in a fit state to work,” he held up a hand to silence Felipe’s protestations, “Because you were up all night smuggling illegal flora into the country?”

Felipe bristled, irritation radiating off him. “We are going to San Marino, I needed them.”

“For what?”

“To pay tribute to my countryman.”

Rob paused, regarding Felipe closely. “Senna?”

The pod began to pulse yellow, informing its inhabitants that they were two minutes from the docking station and should prepare to depart. Felipe waved a brief farewell to the tourists as they all climbed back into their respective vehicles.

“Don’t lecture me,” Felipe said, feeling the piercing blue eyes boring into the side of his head.

“I’m not, I just... I didn’t realise you were Brazilian,” Rob mumbled in reply.

Felipe gave him A Look. “Where did you think I was from?”

“I dunno, Spain? Maybe Mexico?”

Felipe yelped in disbelief, “Mexico?!”

“Bloody hell Felipe, keep your knickers on!” Rob exclaimed, wincing, “No need to shout!” He tapped his earplugs in irritation: malfunctioning again. He’d have to talk to Francesco about fine tuning the decibel cut in point when they finished this shift.

“Mexico,” Felipe mumbled in disbelief as they emerged out of the shuttle into the dazzling sunlight. “Don’t even like tacos.”

***

Everyone knew the story of the fateful weekend in Imola. Rob himself had researched it extensively for his masters dissertation case study, and it was embedded deeply in the DNA of Brazil and its inhabitants.

Ayrton Senna was, in short, the most revered FIA officer in the organisation’s history. He was born and lived in Brazil during some of the country’s darkest days; crime was rife, many families lived in poverty, and the world had largely turned a blind eye to their plight. The FIA was working hard to try and police the country and turn it around, but its sheer vastness was working against them, and despite their successful Officers Fittipaldi and the often contentious Piquet, they had made little headway.

Until Ayrton Senna.

Senna took the FIA by storm when he was just a junior officer in one of the less prestigious branches of the organisation, pulling off some audacious stakeouts and busts. His assisted take down of a wealthy banker embezzling millions of dollars whilst hiding out in Monaco brought him to the forefront of the public’s attention, particularly in his home country where corruption was a significant factor in the widespread poverty of thousands. After further successes in various branches of the FIA, he was offered a promotion to one of its oldest and most revered branches, based in Woking.

The Senna-McLaren partnership was an instant success, with Ayrton topping the arrest statistics throughout the organisation for the first time. With the substantial paycheck he was then earning as one of the top officers, he set up a foundation in his own name to provide education to the poorest children in Brazil, giving them the chance to improve their future prospects. It had a profound effect on the country; one of their own, not only succeeding in the top ranks of law enforcement, but actively trying to help his country, proudly wearing his flag on his uniform. Rob knew the statistics inside out; 30% decrease in all crime and a 23% decrease in violent crime; 12,000 more children in school; a significant drop in unemployment; median household income increased by 2000 reais; and a 240% increase in applications to the Brazilian Police force. His influence was staggering.

But he served during one of the organisation’s most violent periods. During a routine patrol of the Imola district of San Marino, a gang of dissenters, believed to be affiliated with the Mafia, who violently opposed the FIA’s presence in the country, attacked the squad. Senna’s protégé was grievously injured and withdrawn from the frontline on the first day. On the second day, the FIA recorded their first officer fatality in eight years: a promising young Austrian called Roland Ratzenberger. Senna was distraught. The unrest reached its climax on the third day. The squad was ambushed in Imola square and there was no option but to engage the gang in firefight. It had only taken one stray bullet, a seemingly glancing blow to the base of the skull. Senna died on the corner of Tamburello in the arms of the medical officer who had begged him to retire from fieldwork only hours before.

 **  
**Millions flocked to the streets of Sao Paulo to catch one last glimpse of their fallen hero, as he was carried to his final resting place. 20 years on, the country still mourned, but his legacy lived on in his foundation, and a tribute to his memory had been erected in the park on the corner of Tamburello ..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working on this! Got enough content for at least another chapter ready now and will get cracking on the next few bits. I do speak a bit about Senna and Brazil in this chapter and would like to emphasise that this is a work of fiction. I have never been to Brazil and cannot claim to know first hand any of the issues the country has or is currently facing. The situations described, though inspired by current events at that time, have been made up by me. The statistics are all fictional. I have great respect for Ayrton Senna for the charity work he did for Brazil which still continues in his name today, and I hope it continues to do great things for the children in Brazil!


	5. Chapter 5

“They’re from Rubens,” Felipe said as they circled the square, looking for somewhere to park the car. “And Bruno.”

 

“You know them?” Rob asked, impressed.

 

“I know Rubens for a long time,” he said with a wry smile. “He got me into the cadet academy in Brazil. Bruno joined as I was graduating to Sauber.”

 

“So did you know Ayrton then?”

 

“No,” he sighed sadly, “I saw him once, but never met him. I think I’m the only Brazilian officer who didn’t!”

 

“Do you envy them? That they got to be such a large part of his life?”

 

Felipe shrugged. “Sometimes. Not really. In Brazil, we lost a hero that day, but they lost a hero, a mentor and an uncle. And now they trying and trying to live up to his name—who can do that? He was _Senna_. This way I get to be me, you know?”

 

“Yeah,” said Rob, taking a moment to stretch out his limbs as got out of the car. “I think I do.”

 

Together they scooped the flowers out of the car and made their way to the park entrance, trying carefully not to leave a trail of petals in their wake. A fine film of mist rolled across the lush green field, the grass dewy and sparkling in the hazy morning sunlight. It was still and silent, almost reverentially so, as though nature itself had foreseen the two men walking down the path with armfuls of yellow and blue, and had contrived to reflect the solemn mood. The statue was smaller than Rob remembered; the last time he’d visited it had seemed to tower over him, intimidating even in his bronze form to an awestruck criminology student. Ayrton sat atop a marble plinth, his bronze eyes closed and face thoughtful, hands folded in his lap. Rob placed the blue Zinnia- _For remembrance_ , Felipe had said- at his feet, bowing his head for a moment before stepping back. Felipe could only stare, seemingly dumbstruck in the aura of the statue.

 

“I was the same, first time I saw it,” Rob said kindly, placing a hand on his partner’s shoulder.

 

“Now put your tree down before you drop it and crush all the other tokens.”

 

Felipe propped the two small branches of _Ipê Amarelo_ \- yellow blossoms adorning the gnarled wood, the national flowers of Brazil- either side of the statue. He seemed at a loss for what he should do, hands clenching and unclenching, arms swinging at his sides.

 

"I have to pray," he said suddenly, “For Rubens and Bruno’s family. They're all so busy with police and FIA work, and Ayton’s institute, they don't have the time or the money to come down here and--"

 

"It's fine, go ahead."

 

Felipe dropped to his knees in front of the statue, softly murmuring in a language Rob now assumed to be Portuguese. Then, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his police intuition buzzing at the base of his skull. There was something- someone- out there and they weren't there to pay their respects: they were watching them. He moved slowly, feigning casualness as best he could, cautiously laying one hand on Felipe's shoulder.

 

"You can sense them too?" he asked, not looking up and surprising Rob slightly.

 

"Yeah, we're being watched. Dunno where from though, I'm gonna do a sweep. Stay where you are."

 

He straightened slowly, activating the sweeper on his wrist under the pretence of checking the time. He shuffled around on the spot, kicking up plumes of dust as he feigned boredom; eyes glinting as he furtively scanned his surroundings. As he turned back to face the statue of Senna, the sweeper sent hot pulses down his arm. Rob raised his eyes skywards, squinting up at the sun, shooting a quick glance into the treeline at the far side of the park.

 

"2 o clock," Rob said in an undertone, "They're in the trees, three men."

 

Felipe raised his head fractionally, peering through his eyelashes. "Weapons?”

 

“Can't tell.”

 

“Well then, article 19.6 of the handbook states that we must assume they are armed unless proven otherwise."

 

Rob barely supressed a snort, grinning behind his hand as he pretended to scratch his nose. "Been doing your homework, have you?"

 

"You never stop talking about the handbook!"

 

"Funny, I never got the impression you were listening."

 

"I was trying not to!"

 

Rob prodded him in the side with his toe in retaliation, eliciting a quite delightful squirm; he mentally filed away that bit of information to bring out a later date-- his partner was definitely ticklish. A glint in the distance caught his eye.

 

"They've got a gun."

 

Felipe stiffened, instinctively folding in on himself to present a smaller target. "Our path to the car goes right past there," he hissed, finger tapping nervously on his ankle holster.

 

"I have a plan," Rob said, mentally reviewing his knowledge of Imola Park, one eye trained on the gang in the treeline, all now in frantic discussion. "But you're going to have to trust me."

 

For the first time Felipe turned his head ever so slightly to look at his colleague, one solemn brown eye staring up at him. "I can do that."

 

A young man emerged suddenly, stumbling out of the trees, handgun clearly visible. Not professional then, Rob thought, A pro marksman would never reveal himself to a target, especially if the target was also combat trained. Then the gun was drawn and pointing directly at them. Quick as a flash, Felipe grabbed Rob's wrist, hauling him behind the plinth as a gunshot rang out, the pair of the showered in chunks of stone as the bullet clipped the statue.

 

"Amateurs," Felipe spat, "Trying to make a statement."

 

"Part of the Tamburello gang?" Rob asked, heart hammering in his ears.

 

"Shit part of the gang if so."

 

"Right," Rob said, steeling himself as another shot rent the air. "We need to get back to the car, get the upper hand back. Then we can try and take down these fuckers."

 

"And how?"

 

Rob pulled a small sphere out his belt. "We need a diversion."

 

***

 

The young man stood behind the trees, looking out at the two officers about 50 metres away, half shielded by the statue of their hero. His hands shook slightly as he glanced back at the two older gang members egging him on. This was all part of his initiation into Tamburello-- attacking a piece-of-scum FIA officer. No one had managed to kill one since Senna, but a bullet on target could get you instant acceptance into the gang. With the advancements in technology in recent years, it had become harder and harder to attack FIA and the gang had taken to organising hits on whichever police forces they happened to be targeting, often succeeding in wounding and even killing officers of forces where the FIA technology had not yet trickled down to. But now, with two obviously young and inexperienced officers utterly unaware of their surroundings as they prayed to their fallen God... This was an opportunity not to be missed.

 

The Latin looking officer was kneeling on the floor; lips moving in a silent prayer as his partner aimlessly paced a circle, kicking up plumes of dust as he did so. He prodded the man on the floor with his foot, as if trying to hurry him up so they could get out of there.

 

"Quick, before they leave!" hissed the older of the two gang members, giving him a shove. He stumbled out of the treeline, blinking in the weak morning sunlight. For the first time, both officers looked up, staring straight at him as though they'd been expecting him to emerge at that exact spot.

 

"Do it now!" came the cry from behind him.

 

BANG!

 

The forceful ejection of the bullet ricocheted down his arm, sending the shot wide as he stumbled back in shock. The two officers had disappeared from sight, diving behind the statue, now missing a great chunk of rock from the plinth.

 

" _Idiota!_ Again!"

 

Hands shaking, he pulled the trigger again, his second shot even further off the mark than the first.

 

"Give it to me," snarled one of the men, snatching the gun out of his hand. "Useless!"

 

Just then, the larger of the two officers made a break for it, darting out from behind the statue and sprinting across the open ground. Amateur! The man thought. He briefly took aim, lining up the retreating officer in his sights.

 

BANG!

 

He hit the deck as the bullet pierced his shoulder, slicing through the flesh like butter, before falling heavily to the floor behind a bush.

 

"Got him!!" crowed the other man, as the initiate looked on in shock. The three of them hurried over to where the man lay, gun drawn protectively in front of them.

 

"Tell us if he's dead or if we need to finish him off." The young man was shoved forwards. With a large degree of dread, he peered into the foliage.

 

"He's gone!"

 

"Impossible!"

 

The three of them rounded the bush, searching in disbelief, finding nothing more than a small round capsule, beeping softly.

 

 


End file.
